Mission Reports
by Roxie Zephyr Jocelyn
Summary: Mission reports, in Umino Iruka's humble opinion, tended to reveal a lot about the shinobi writing it, so when his curiosity about a certain silver-haired shinobi is piqued, Iruka decided to go to the place that would help him most: the Konoha mission archives.
1. Chapter One

A/N: The fascinating characters of Naruto do not belong to me. Enjoy~ xD

Info:

Jutsu - Loosely translated to "technique" or "skill".

Genin - The lowest shinobi rank directly above academy students. Usually assigned to teams of three accompanied by a Jounin teacher. They usually carry out the lowest ranking missions, such as D-Rank and C-Rank missions.

Chuunin - The second shinobi rank after Genin. They usually carry out C-Rank and B-Rank missions. They are also the ones usually involved in the every day duties in the system, such as administrative tasks and teaching at the academy.

Tokubetsu Jounin - Shinobi who are below Jounin rank, but have specialized skills that are Jounin-ranked. As an example, Ibiki Morino is a Tokubetsu Jounin because of his Jounin-level skills in interrogation.

Jounin - The highest shinobi rank of the regular shinobi force after Chuunin. They usually carry out A-Rank and S-Rank missions as well as the occasional Unranked mission.

ANBU - An acronym that stands for "Ansatsu Senjutsu Tokushu Butai" which can be translated into "Special Assassination and Tactical Squad". ANBU members are considered the elite of elite, and often wear an animal mask and a cloak to hide their identities. They perform high level missions, such as assassinations, torture and guarding the Hokage.

Hokage - The leader of Konoha Gakure also known as the Hidden Leaf Village.

Sandaime Hokage - Loosely translated to "the Third Hokage".

The Sannin of Konoha - The collective name of three renowned shinobi from Konoha: Tsunade, Jiraiya and Orochimaru.

Sharingan no Kakashi - Loosely translated to "Kakashi of the Sharingan". It is one of the nicknames given to Hatake Kakashi along with his other moniker, the Copy Ninja.

Kyuubi - A reference to the Nine-Tailed Fox.

Chapter One  


Umino Iruka had a fearsome temper, and was infamous for losing said temper almost all the time; chewing shinobi out for their messy, illegible, incomplete, late, missing mission reports, regardless of rank and reputation. He had the backing and protection of the Sandaime Hokage, and although he was a Chuunin, he was not a person to be messed around with; the Genin feared him because he had been their terrifying academy teacher, and the Chuunin tip-toed around him because he was of equal rank, and frankly could be quite scary when they didn't have the protection of authority or status. Tokubetsu Jounin and Jounin weren't as obvious; after all, he was acutely aware of the chain of commands, and as an academy teacher who had to set a good example, he respected his superiors.

But, it didn't stop him from stamping a huge red "REJECT" on their mission reports should he deem them unworthy for Konoha's high filing standards, returning said report with an icy politeness and deceptive calmness, and even the most stubborn Jounin would tire of being forced to re-write their report for, what seemed like, the ten thousandth time.

Contrary to popular belief, Iruka had never actually turned said terrifying reputation on Hatake Kakashi before, despite the whispered rumours in the Konoha Gossip Vine, which had only been exacerbated by their direct and explosive confrontation during the Chuunin Exam nominations. In fact, prior to that moment, Iruka had never actually had much personal dealing with Kakashi. The latter's missions tended to run, more often than not, into the highly classified category, which meant that the mission reports Iruka did receive from him only contained the bare facts – name, code, mission rank, mission status – a statement that had a total of two words – "information classified" – and a reference code to the actual classified report that would be hand delivered to the Hokage personally by Kakashi himself.

But, just because he wasn't the man's friend, per say, it didn't mean that Iruka didn't notice the silver-haired shinobi. Although, it wasn't until the unexpected and very, very gentle nudge from Kakashi into the right direction in his moment of self-doubt that Iruka really began to take notice of the man behind the mysteries, the life behind the legend. Even so, Kakashi hadn't seemed real, and the strange warmth of the connection began to fade into a vague impression of a memory, especially when Iruka had had to recount tales of the infamous Copy Ninja to his questioning students, watching them as they role played Sharingan no Kakashi – along with figures, such as the Fourth Hokage, the infamous Sannin of Konoha and occasionally, the anonymous cool ANBU, complete with finger paints on their faces in a childish mimic of an ANBU mask – in their 'ninja games' during their classroom breaks, turning a living, breathing man into a figure that had been born out of myth, village lore and campfire stories.

After all, neither man had any reason to meet outside the Mission Room, and even then, the secrecy around a large majority of Kakashi's missions only perpetuated the tales that Iruka regaled his students with.

Still, taking notice hadn't really brought about a change in their relationship aside from Iruka's sense of awareness when it came to Kakashi; a sense of awareness that grew into a sense of curiosity when he had been told that Kakashi was to become Naruto's Jounin teacher. Curiosity became horror at Kakashi's student record, or the lack of it, but horror soon became resigned exasperation tinged with a little disbelief with every new complaint that Naruto ranted at him: from his sensei's chronic lateness to his porn reading habits. It was Naruto, after all, and he tended to get on a serious roll when he had his mind made up about something or someone. However, it was enough to really spur Iruka on into an attempt at becoming more familiar with the shinobi in question, even if he could not bring himself to actually strike up a more personal relationship with Kakashi; despite all his questionable flaws, Kakashi was still an elite shinobi and he was very intimidating.

Which was why Iruka fell back on to his most trusty method: mission reports.

Mission reports, in his humble opinion, tended to reveal a lot about the shinobi writing it. Consistently wrinkled reports – complete with deep crinkles that told of hastily smoothened out balls of crumpled paper – or reports that were littered with messy corrections and smudges told of a person with a careless or forgetful nature, or that said person simply couldn't be bothered with the tediousness of paperwork. Consistently neatly pressed reports – the paper so smooth that it looked no different from the empty report forms that were provided at the desk – or reports that had little-to-no technical or tactical detail told of a person who wasn't a mission veteran, and was, perhaps, more use to the secure comforts of the village than the unpredictable trepidations of the wide world. The nature of the report combined with Iruka's real life impression and knowledge of the person could craft an image that he was reasonably confident with.

Between his preparations and classes at the academy, his duties in the administration office and the occasional babysitting of orphan students, Iruka found the time to dig through the mountains of past mission reports, sneaking a couple home with every opportunity he got. All of them were written by the same person: one Hatake Kakashi.

Fortified with a pot of tea during the autumn season, a glass of cool juice during the summer heat, more tea during the spring season and mug of hot chocolate during the winter frost, Iruka read; learning of a Chuunin, whose large, blocky and messy handwriting, and academy-styled, question-to-answer and occasional narrative writing told of child thrown into a world of adults. Words flowed, and before his eyes, the handwriting became more fluid and certain, if a little stiff and militaristic – with the occasional smudge that suggested that not all messy or careless habits had yet been outgrown – and the content of the reports became more in-depth and knowledgeable, inclusive of the occasional area map – painstakingly traced from an actual map with lines that lightened and deepened, and even the occasional blot of ink that soaked into the paper where the artist had lingered a little too long – or tactical illustration – that, during its early stages, resembled a child's doodle though they did eventually improve to look more like the drawings of an actual strategist; the epitome of an exemplary mission report, even if they were still rough around the edges, as the child grew into a soldier.

The suspicious prickle in his eyes had nothing to do with him accidentally burning his tongue from his hot chocolate or tea, and neither did the heaviness that seemed to settle in his stomach, cold and dark when it should've been warm and comfortable. He could remember his nightmares and near crippling terror as Naruto came closer and closer to graduation, his imagination supplying him with all the dangers that could harm the boy, the trials that could destroy him, the experiences that could break that bright spirit and snuff out the light in those brilliant blue eyes. Naruto was, after all, just a child.

_Just as Kakashi had been. He had been seven years old, barely a year after he had been promoted to Chuunin, and he had already killed his first man; self-defense, the report had stated. It was a small comfort that it would be at least three more years before Kakashi would be ordered to kill a target in a planned assassination; taking a life knowingly and purposefully. At eight, he had experienced loss; his father, the great White Fang, but Iruka couldn't help the small sigh of relief that Kakashi would be 13 years old before he experienced loss on the battlefield in a harsh environment far away from the security of familiar home grounds. _

_Still, that was too young; Kakashi had been too young. No longer innocent, but still very much a child. _

Then came, what Iruka coined as, the "missing years". After a couple of scattered reports – of both team and solo missions – during and after the Kyuubi attack, there was a mysterious blank that lasted roughly six to seven years. Aside from the occasional reference, Kakashi seemed to have vanished off the face of the earth where missions were concerned.

_Later, he would learn that these were Kakashi's most active years, though he had operated under a very different identity._

Kakashi's first report after the "missing years" – at least, the first report that had more than the words "information classified" – was vastly different from the reports written by the awkward not-child soldier. His writing was infinitely neater, more precise and stunningly elegant, beautiful even; the type of script that spoke of someone who knew all the ins-and-outs of sealing and text-based jutsu. However, where the writing bordered on artistic and flawless, the actual condition of the report tended to vary: from reports that were stiffer than the paper was meant to be, and splotchy with the effects of an unidentified liquid – suggesting that the report had been soaked in rain, mud or blood, or all three – to reports that were relatively unharmed, except for a slight crumpling or the marks of folds. Regardless of the condition, these were clearly reports written by a shinobi who understood the importance of mission reports, especially for the purpose of information gathering and strategy planning that could, and would, affect the future safety of other shinobi. The content was crisp and clear, detailed and textured yet clearly defined with liberal use of tactical terms, field codes and mission short-hand; the soldier had become a well-versed war veteran, an experienced strategist, and an undeniable team leader and commander, detached and cynical.

The academy instructor forced himself to stop, breathing through his nose to control his sudden nausea and roiling stomach, his throat constricting and clamping up, at the graphic yet clinical and very necessary detailing of injuries, attacks, killings and other gruesome experiences that were expected of high ranked missions; they disturbed him more than he cared to admit. Iruka struggled to reconcile the image that the reports had constructed – every inch a ruthless and efficient weapon of Konoha – with the impression of the laid-back, unassuming yet intimidating Jounin that he had crossed paths with on occasion.

_He thought these reports were the worst, but he soon learnt that these were nothing compared to those that were "missing"._

Therefore, Iruka was utterly relieved when these reports tapered away to be replaced by reports of more familiar content; a more official account of the stories that Naruto told of his missions with Team Seven. The Chuunin couldn't help his chuckles as Kakashi's thorough and meticulous reports became shorter and briefer, bordering on laziness – even his graceful penmanship had degenerated into a lazy scrawl that hinted at elegance rather than boasted of it – in the details – after all, there were only so many ways you could describe the successful capture of the target also known as the infamous spitfire called Tora – but there were still off-hand comments that piqued Iruka's curiosity about Team Seven's dynamics and Naruto's performance during missions.

It was during one such reading session that Iruka had received yet another Team Seven mission report from Kakashi, and in a spur of the moment, a sudden surge of courage, he blurted out, 'How was the mission? I hope Naruto did okay.' Kakashi had just looked at him then, his eye piercing and intense, but his answer nothing more than a nod and a simple, 'He was fine.' Quashing the slight annoyance at Kakashi's seemingly lack of interest and initiative, despite Iruka's politeness and initiative, Iruka had resigned himself to simply relying on Naruto's stories – which had become rare and far in-between now that the boy was busy with missions and training.

Still, the exchange was soon forgotten as work piled up and Iruka was buried in his responsibilities and duties. Until Team Seven had a new mission, and Iruka had decided to take a peek at the mission report that had been, coincidentally, given to him to file – though, he really should've known that with Kakashi, there was no such thing as coincidences. The report was longer than usual, but at a brief glance, it seemed like any normal report that Kakashi submitted on behalf of Team Seven. However, Iruka had been reading Kakashi's reports for the past few months, and the loosely narrative writing style and unnecessary details stuck out like a sore thumb. As Iruka set it aside in hopes of pondering that little curiosity, a small scrap of paper had fallen out from the two-page report. Written on it was a list of words, seemingly unrelated and irrelevant. But, something about them caught Iruka's attention; they were strangely familiar, like a little piece of memory lodged frustratingly just out of his each at the back of his mind. It would take him a few days before he realized that the words were keywords that acted as a decoder. It would take him a few heartbeats – and a quick glance over at the report – before he realized what the decoder was for.

The code was easy enough – mid-Chuunin level – and after an hour of diligent work, Iruka had transcribed a report that followed the framework of Kakashi's report, but was entirely different. The unnecessary details became the building blocks cemented together by the narrative structure. Between the lines, underneath the underneath, Kakashi had included a light-hearted commentary about Naruto's mischievous antics, Sasuke's awkward skillfulness and Sakura's bright intelligence. He described the utter ridiculousness of their mission – Who knew Konoha had that many clogged drains that were in such need of cleaning? – and, in a uniquely entertaining way, wrote of Team Seven's dedication and perseverance through even the darkest minutes – it had literally been pitch black in some of the drains – and their bravery in the face of fierce opposition – because Sakura's shriek and Naruto's resulting scream as they accidentally walked into a gigantic spider web could surely be heard from the other end of the village. Sasuke had only just escaped that humiliation because he had fallen, and his own yell had been drowned by the knee-deep mud that the three of them had been wading through.

The utter sarcasm, complete with an imaginary deadpan delivery and expressive inflection, was something Iruka could match to Kakashi's voice, and he spent the next hour or so chuckling at Team Seven's misadventures.

Ever since then, every new report came with a decoder, and Iruka soon looked forward to his new routine of unraveling the stories that Kakashi weaved with the touch of a true master storyteller. It was a game between them, interesting and fun, and though their actual face-to-face interactions hadn't changed, Iruka's perception of Kakashi most definitely had.

_These reports were his favourites, not only because they gave him a glimpse into Naruto's life, but also because they had given him a glimpse into Kakashi's mind; someone who had a sarcastic sense of humour, bordering on caustic, who was pragmatic and actually quite sensible, who could be mischievous and playful, who delighted in playing mind games and watching people dance to his tune, and who, despite his own protests, was someone who cared deeply for his charges._

_Iruka couldn't help but wonder if you could know a person, like a person, when you barely said two words to their face._

Not even Team Seven's ill-fated C-Rank mission stopped these exchanges – though that particular mission report was void of their usual playfulness and instead was strongly reminiscent of Kakashi's report prior to Team Seven; not quite as macabre but every bit as serious and professional, detailed and informative, penmanship elegant and beautiful, and Iruka found himself preferring Kakashi's Team Seven reports despite their flaws – and when they did stop, it had been Iruka's fault. Iruka had just swapped his usual cup of tea for a bottle of sake, celebrating the fact that he had moved beyond high-Chuunin level, just cracking into low-Jounin level decoding, when their game ended in a rather abrupt manner.

It was their harsh confrontation during the nominations for the Chuunin exam.

Their relationship – What relationship? – had completely fallen through. Both men were stubborn and strong-willed, the clash of pride a huge blow to the unspoken amicability between them. The exams meant that Team Seven was busy with preparations; there were no mission reports to be handed in or read.

_Later, when Iruka's thoughts turned back to that moment, he realized that, despite his own anger at Kakashi, and the raging urge to yell at the man, expounding on how _wrong _Kakashi was as opposed to how _right_ Iruka had been, the academy teacher would admit that he missed their little decoding game._

But, all thoughts of the silver-haired man soon fled as the Chuunin exams brought about a destruction that nearly crippled Konoha, and it would be days, weeks, even a month or two, before Iruka would find himself turning back to his new hobby.


	2. Interlude: Tools of the Trade

A/N: Thank you so, so much to everyone who has added this story to their Favourite and Follow lists; truly you have given me the much needed encouragement to continue with the story. A really, really special thank you to a Guest, La Palice, Jest'lyn Tal, Ranowa Hikura, Prescripto13 and Sushi4Brains, who have taken the time to leave their delightful thoughts; I do hope that you will continue to enjoy the story. Once again, the fascinating characters of Naruto, sadly, do not belong to me. Also, a warning, as this chapter contains heavy spoilers for major plot events in Naruto.

Info (additional terms or expressions that were not defined or explained in the previous chapter):

Medic-nin – Also known as "medical ninja" or "medical-nin". These are shinobi who specialize in medical treatment and the use of healing techniques.

White Fang of Konoha – The nickname given to Hatake Sakumo, Kakashi's father.

ANBU Commander – The highest rank in the ANBU force; the person who represents ANBU at the Council and leads the ANBU force in general.

ROOT – Also known as "Ne". It is a sub-division of ANBU founded by Shimura Danzou, which acts as his personal army. ROOT members wear the standard mask and cloak of the ANBU, but unlike ANBU, are not required to wear a standard uniform under the cloak.

Nindou - The way of the shinobi. It is a set of beliefs that each shinobi lives by.

Interlude: Tools of the Trade

A shinobi was simply a tool to be used.

It was a mantra repeated by many; taught to the inexperienced novice, a harsh reminder to the veterans on the battlefield. Most were matter-a-fact about it, accepting it as a way of life. Still, there were those who were bitter and cynical about it, despairing in the darker connotations that underpinned it.

It was a mantra that Tsunade was more than familiar with, a mantra that she had once rebelled against with all her might and thunderous strength.

It was a mantra that haunted her now as she sat in her office, alone and her mind much too clear for her liking, staring at the papers that littered her desk; littered her desk – papers filled with stats on various shinobi complete with attached photo identifications – doing the very thing that had once sickened her – that still sickened her despite the utter importance of the task – the thing that her teacher had once done; deciding on who she would use – on who could already be used and who had the potential to be crafted into what the village needed.

Because, strip away everything, at the very core of dreams, ambitions and desires, of loyalty, friendship and even love, shinobi were defined by how useful they were to the village and their Hokage.

A shinobi was simply a tool to be used.

Tsunade never wanted to be Hokage. Personal reasons aside – and she had a whole laundry list of them that she couldn't bear listing out because they were drenched in so much agony – it was because of something much simpler.

She was a shinobi, but she was, first and foremost, a medic-nin.

There was a contradiction to that; after all, one had to be a shinobi before becoming a medic-nin, and one didn't stop being a shinobi just because one became a medic-nin.

But, one could not become a medic-nin if one believed that a shinobi was nothing more than a tool. To a medic-nin, every tool was a life with hopes and dreams, with loved ones waiting for a safe return and a future waiting to happen. To throw that life away – even one – was sacrilegious in the eyes of Tsunade the healer.

Yet, in a world where attack was seen as the best defense, in a time when there was more need to kill than to heal, to throw that life away was a choice that Tsunade the Hokage had to make.

Especially if it meant that it – that one life – could stave off far graver consequences; a small price to pay in the face of a far greater debt.

A shinobi on the field, who was on the brink of death, but still breathed with life, could become a liability to his teammates; the time taken to heal said shinobi could be used to make a desperate escape from enemy territory or to complete a mission. It was just simply easier – it required less advanced skills, less energy, less time – to deal a certain death to one than to deal with the risk of gambling more lives – Tsunade snorted at the irony of that thought; at least her luck with lives on the field was better than her luck at the gambling tables – especially when the shinobi involved had information that could bring about the downfall of their village, especially when they could be used against the village.

Even in enemy hands, especially in enemy hands, a shinobi was simply a tool to be used.

Healing and rescue were especially frowned upon when it was prioritized over the mission. Failure to die for the village, especially if death meant the successful completion of the mission, was looked down upon with disapproval.

Failure to complete a mission, because its success would come with the death of a comrade, was met with harsh condemnation.

The person she idolized, the legendary White Fang of Konoha, Hatake Sakumo, had shared her beliefs – that every life was precious, that every life was to be protected.

And, he had been punished for that very crime; a man of honour and pride driven to do the unspeakable by judgmental whispers and piercing, accusing eyes.

To choose the mission over a comrade's life. To abandon those who might still live or, even worse, to kill those who might still live for the sake of the village, for the sake of the Hokage, for the sake of completing the mission.

It was something that Tsunade had not been able to accept, and so she had left.

It was the reason why she had resented Sakumo's son, why she hadn't been as fond of him as her teacher, Jiraiya and Minato had been. At the tender age of eight, he was a living personification of everything his father had been condemned for not being; the perfect shinobi, who saw life – even his own – as nothing more than a tool to be wielded in defense of the village, who would let his teammate die – would die himself – without blinking an eye if it meant that his mission was complete. To treat something as precious as life so carelessly, he was a worthy shinobi, and in the same breath, worthless in her eyes. It didn't matter that he was the son of the one of the people she respected most; he was nothing where his father had been everything.

At first glance, he was nothing like Tsunade, and that had blinded her to the traits in him that made him so admirable in the eyes of many, including the people closest to her.

Later, as she read through his files, as she came to know him, love him, as one of _her _shinobi, she would realize that she had grossly misjudged him; Jiraiya had often commented that her swift, highly critical, highly emotional judgement of people was one of her greatest flaws.

Nobody knew the real reason why Kakashi had retired from ANBU – just like nobody knew the reason why she had left the village, why Jiraiya had pursued Orochimaru and why Orochimaru had betrayed them all; like them, Kakashi was part of the old generation, one of the figures who was known by everyone, but not really _known_ by _anyone_. Nobody knew that it was a Konoha shinobi who had conspired against Kakashi, who had turned everything Kakashi had believed in, everything the Hatake brat had held dear, into dead bodies burning on a pyre; familiar voices turning into barely recognizable hellish screams distorted by anguish and torment, in a mocking reenactment of a tragic past. At the age of 19, the silver-haired shinobi had been months, mere months, away from being elected as ANBU Commander – mere months from making history yet again by being the genius that he was – before it was stripped away because Kakashi was changing ANBU, and it was a change that threatened Shimura Danzou's ambition.

_Because ANBU protected their own – were, in fact, very protective of their own – but when it came down to the line, when push became a shove, there was no such thing as "friends" in ANBU. The Hokage, the village, the mission always came first; if you were ordered to hunt someone you knew – someone you got drunk with, had sparred with, even took a tumble between the sheets with – they were now, undoubtedly, unquestionably, the enemy. _

_In ANBU, the mission, the Hokage's command always came first – swift and efficient, ruthless, merciless, deadly; there was no escape, not even for people once considered friends._

_And, Kakashi had changed that. Despite the loss he had faced, despite all that the village had taken from him, despite being cynical and caustic – more than a little rough around the edges – and every inch a formidable and terrifying ANBU Captain, he had changed that._

_In Kakashi's ANBU, they protected their own, and comradeship made them stronger. Where one would fail, seamless teamwork brought success. To Kakashi, the ANBU – his squad and the other squads he had been tasked to lead – were only as strong as their willingness to work with each other, to have each other's backs in the face of the most dire of threats; loyalty was to be earned before it could be tested, orders were to be understood before they were carried out. _

_Especially if they were commanded to hunt one of their own._

_Because in the world of the shinobi, especially amongst the ranks of ANBU, those who break the rules and disobey the laws – those who defy the word of the Hokage – were seen as trash._

_But, in Kakashi's eyes, those who abandon their friends were worse than trash. _

Danzou had seethed at the change the silver-haired shinobi wrought simply by holding true to his beliefs; he was a force to be reckoned with. Kakashi had inspired a fierce loyalty, not because he had demanded it, but because he had given himself to his comrades – given himself for them – and in return, they had given back to him tenfold; their loyalty to him born out of the choice that they had made to follow him, their friendship to him freely given.

A shinobi was simply a tool to be used, and yet, the ANBU, Kakashi's subordinates and teammates, hadn't minded that.

Because they had questioned him, they had fought him, they had tested him and they had challenged him.

And, they had found him to be worthy of their devotion, worthy of their sacrifice, worthy of their lives.

The tool had chosen its wielder.

And, this meant that the tool was simply a tool no longer; made that much stronger, that much deadlier, because of its willingness to be used, a choice made of its own free will.

Tsunade couldn't help but wonder if her teacher had noticed this, couldn't help but wonder if he had noticed what Danzou was planning because of this.

A rigged suicide mission where the information given had been falsified. Kakashi's team tortured within the inch of their lives, Kakashi himself tortured within an inch of his life, physically, mentally, emotionally, as he was forced to watch the torment of his teammates, unable to do anything, but watch. He had come close, so close, to saving them. Tsunade had buried her face in her hand before retrieving the strongest sake she could find in her hidden stash and gulping down a generous helping as she read of how he had managed to drag all his teammates – all three of them because every life _mattered_ – to the very borders of Konoha only to be ambushed in a territory they called home, by people they should have been able to trust – though the shinobi, including Kakashi, would later come to learn that just because they wore similar masks, the members of ROOT were very, very different from the ANBU, and certainly not people they could trust – and Kakashi had been forced to watch them die.

Had been forced to kill them with his own hands because the hunters had other more chilling methods in mind; because Kakashi would be merciful and he would make it as honourable, as respectable, as painless as possible, and because they trusted him – with their legacies, their sacrifices, their lives – until the very end.

_Just like Rin had._

Kakashi had fought for their names to be carved on the Memorial Stone though they had reportedly betrayed the village to the enemy – Tsunade snorted. What enemy? – and her teacher had relented.

And, she was left to wonder if he had known about Danzou's plotting, known about how the mission had been a set-up.

Had known far too little, far too late.

Because he had not been able to prevent it from happening, but he had taken other courses of action that spoke of protection; he had given Kakashi the option of quitting ANBU, of returning to the Jounin ranks, of being more than just a tool behind a bone-white mask marked in the red, black and blue swirls of death and destruction.

Of being alive with a very real presence – real connections – that could not be dismissed as the flickers of a shadow.

And, Kakashi had taken it; Hatake Kakashi had walked amongst his peers as a Jounin once more.

Her teacher had even given him _students_ – and Tsunade chortled as she imagined the first announcement that Hatake Kakashi, _the _Hatake Kakashi, would take on hapless _Genin students_ – in hopes that they would bring him life where there had only been loss – because the village had taken everything from Kakashi, everyone he had held dear. Despite the incredulity of his decision, Tsunade could see what her teacher had planned.

Because Kakashi, despite having left ANBU, was still a tool; was still treating himself as a tool, taking on more missions than ever, taking care of himself only because he needed to pass the medical examinations that would deem him fit for more missions.

The ex-ANBU Captain was surviving, but he had not truly been alive, had not truly been living life.

And, really, Tsunade did not blame him at all; in fact, she completely understood.

His father, his teammates, his teacher – Kakashi had entered ANBU as a cynical 13-year-old who had known more about death and loss than about love and life. ANBU were as dysfunctional as they came; they accepted all kinds of quirks that civilian, even lower ranked shinobi, would have been weirded out by – appalled by – and simply went on with life; as long as their choice of friend was sane enough to function on the field and wouldn't stab them in the back, everything else was of much less consequence.

How then was someone who had known nothing but a life like this supposed to live?

But, Kakashi _had _lived. The constant edge he lived on had actually dulled – though he was still a paranoid bastard that had instincts far beyond those anyone would expect of even a shinobi – and he had begun to truly fit into the ranks he had chosen.

The killer became a respectable elite shinobi.

The one once considered to be terrifying became one who was admired and regarded with high esteem.

Already, the whispers of his reputation had begun to change.

_Kakashi_ had begun to change.

But, it hadn't mattered, had it?

Tsunade couldn't help the bitterness at welled up within her at the turn her thoughts had taken. The Sandaime Hokage had hoped that students would fill the yawning hole in Kakashi, had hoped that, even as he taught them, they would teach him, not only how to die for the village, but how to live for it, for the people in it.

Then came Uzumaki Naruto, Uchiha Sasuke and Haruno Sakura.

And, Tsunade was once again left to wonder if her teacher had foreseen what could happen – because they had been her team all over again – and after much contemplation, she knew with much certainty that he had. From their academy reports, the three of them had been destined to be outsiders; all three never truly fitting in with their peers, always on the edge of the crowd, always different.

Uzumaki Naruto had been feared, despised even, for the monster that was sealed inside him.

Uchiha Sasuke had seen no reason to befriend anyone, to form bonds with anyone, consumed by the burn of hatred and the dark desire for revenge.

Haruno Sakura, though she was a shinobi born and bred, had lived on the fringes of shinobi life rather than in the thick of it as most of her peers had – her father's Genin rank and her mother's semi-retirement for the sake of her daughter had ensured that she had grown up in an almost civilian-type childhood despite being a shinobi – and because she had been the top student of her class, because she had had to compete with children who were literally born into clan techniques and secrets, children who were being trained far more, pushed far harder than she had been, it had chipped away at her self-confidence and become the very thing that drove a wedge between her and her peers; she was always fighting to prove herself, always striving to be better than them, but there were just some things that book smarts couldn't make up for.

For all the years they had spent in the academy, all three had never formed the bonds of friendship that would keep them alive – sane, healthy, whole – in their chosen profession. All three were outsiders; they did not know how to belong – or, in Sasuke's case, had not seen the need to belong – especially amongst people who were supposed to be their peers; the people who would later become their unconditional support when everyone else did not seem to understand what they were going through.

Who better to teach them than the one person who had succeeded in inspiring bonds where bonds of such strength should not have been formed?

Also, Kakashi had been the only choice – the only one strong enough to handle Naruto should something go wrong and the only one who was skilled enough to teach Sasuke where everyone else had failed to impress anything upon him.

And, he had succeeded.

He had succeeded in drawing out and maximizing the potential of Naruto's fierce compassion and loving nature, giving him focus for his dreams; his own ninja way fitting Naruto like a well-worn glove, and with every new bond he gained, Naruto was carving a little bit of himself into the hearts of those who once hated him, earning him his rightful place in Konoha, his home, the place he belonged.

He had succeeded in nudging Sakura into the right direction, giving her the foundation she needed to prove herself, not only to her peers, but also to herself; finding a place where she could belong.

But, circumstances had intervened with Sasuke, and it seemed like Kakashi had failed in everything he sought to impart. He had tried to protect Sasuke, who, of the three, was the one who had attracted the most dangerous of attentions by teaching him a weapon he could use to defend himself by. He had tried to tether Sasuke to his team because, of the three, he had seen in Sasuke the same darkness he had seen in himself; a darkness that could only be kept at bay if it could be moulded into something less destructive and poured into something more potent that could change it, like the bonds of friendship.

_It was ironic really that it had also been because of Danzou that the Uchiha boy had ended up in the position that he had._

It had not been enough to keep Sasuke from leaving the village, not enough to keep Sasuke from trying to kill his teammates, but, even now, Tsunade was sure that Team Seven was the only thing left that saved Sasuke from being irrevocably irredeemable; if Sasuke could be saved, it was only because of what Team Seven had given him, because of the part of himself that he had left with Team Seven, because even when the whole world had turned against him, even when he had turned the whole world against him, Team Seven was where he would always belong.

Because it was their Nindou; the way of the shinobi that they had been drilled upon, the way of the shinobi that they had come to embrace, heart and soul, as their own.

Just as it had been Kakashi's Nindou.

Against all odds, the outsiders had found a place to belong.

Because Kakashi had given them the place to belong.

Her teacher's plan for the students had worked, but, at the same time, it had betrayed the very reason the Sandaime Hokage had chosen to give Kakashi students in the first place.

Tsunade wondered if he could have predicted the cost it would exact from the very person he had tried to protect.

Because, in the end, Kakashi would once again lose – had once again lost – the people precious to him.

This particular team had been a high-risked group; one that everyone had predicted would fall apart, no matter who their Jounin teacher had been. And, her teacher had given the group to the one person who could not afford such a loss, who had already broken from such a loss, and had just started to put himself back together.

The Sandaime Hokage had given the group to him because Kakashi was their only chance at keeping Sasuke and Naruto bound to the village, at giving all three the kind of foundation they needed to prepare them for what was to come, in hopes that they would make the right choices when the time of reckoning came.

Or, at least, give them something, anything, to hold them to if they did eventually give in to the darkness that lurked within them.

These students were never meant to be Kakashi's to hold; circumstance had already decided their fates.

And, just as it had been predicted, Sasuke had been lured away by the influence of Orochimaru, who had fed his ambitions and desperate desires, who had bound him with a cursed seal.

Though Kakashi had fought for him, it was a bitter pill to swallow that he had not been enough, forced to watch as a student he loved had slipped through his fingers like sand no matter how hard he tried to hold on.

Jiraiya had taken Naruto under his wing because his personality aligned with Naruto in the way that Kakashi's never could, Jiraiya's own affinity far more suited to train Naruto than Kakashi's ever had been. Even early on, Sakura herself had demonstrated the potential for being well-matched to a field far remote from Kakashi's own expertise, which would eventually lead her to Tsunade's doorstep.

Unlike Sasuke, Kakashi had let them go willingly; knowing that they had found teachers who could give them what he could not.

And, it was because of that that Tsunade knew Kakashi to be a far better teacher than he had ever thought himself to be. It was one thing to lose a student to circumstance, to ambition, to death, to their own stupidity, but it was another thing entirely to willingly give a student up in acknowledgement that they would be given far more than what he could give.

Because even teachers could be selfish, and Kakashi had every right to fight to keep his remaining students. Instead, he had backed off, never begrudging them, and he had been content to let them go, and content to let them return to him at their own pace, their own time; never withholding from them whatever he could give, whenever they needed him.

The Sandaime Hokage had given Kakashi students to protect him, to give him something to hold on to even as Kakashi put the shattered pieces of himself back together, in hopes that Kakashi would be able to survive everything that had driven him into ANBU, everything that had driven him away from ANBU.

Every loss that had broken him.

But, despite her teacher's best efforts, despite his well-meaning intentions, even Kakashi could not escape the fate of a shinobi. In the end, he had been used, as a Jounin teacher, as the best choice they had, to keep a high-risked group of students from turning against the village.

The only students he would accept – he needed to accept – would be the same students that he was never meant to hold on to.

Because a shinobi was simply a tool to be used.

Even when they had been broken.

Especially in dire circumstances, especially if they could be used to prevent further graver consequences.

And, in times of war, when every tool was used and just a little broken, on the verge of breaking, this became especially true.

Like a sharp blade that could be used with the slightest pressure – to injure, to destroy, to hurt, to maim, to kill – yet could be ruined by the lightest, the most knowing, of touches, the shinobi was a weapon, sharpened and finely honed for a single purpose – to injure, to destroy, to hurt, to maim, to kill – that could be broken by the lightest, the most knowing, of touches, of words; shinobi of the wartime never left the edge of the cliff they stood upon, always, always walking the fine line between undamaged – or as undamaged as shinobi could be – and utterly shattered.

War meant deaths, destruction and the desperate need to fill in the cracks that threatened to spread like poison, taking down the strongest of walls, tearing apart the mightiest of defenses. It meant ignoring the person, deliberately looking right through everything that made them a living, breathing person – age and gender, personality quirks, likes and dislikes, physical and emotional well-being, strengths and weaknesses – and into the one thing, the only thing that mattered: in what way would they be useful. It meant pruning them and stripping away all things that made them more than just a tool, and sending them out with the expectation that they were never coming back – because hope was a double-edged sword, and a village, a leader, could not succumb to despair when there were still things to be done, a war to win, even if it seemed like there would be nothing waiting at the end.

It meant testing shinobi on their own terms, turning on them in the very heart of their home, and training them to recognize the very things that could hurt them, destroy them, break them. It meant training them to put themselves back together – even if the serrated shards no longer fit – and teaching them how to function even if they were still missing that precious something that made them whole. It meant conditioning their minds to see death as a relief, a sacrifice, an honour – because there were so many things worse than not knowing what came in the afterlife – and conditioning their bodies to turn on themselves before the shinobi in question turned on the village – training organs to fail even if they could be healed, overriding all survival instinct instilling the automatic response to slit their own throat, to swallow poison; to die without a second thought.

And, Tsunade's stomach turned because she was a _medic-nin_ and this, this damnable _necessity_, went against everything she believed in.

One did not break a person and teach them to re-forge themselves simply because it made them more _useful_.

She could only be grateful that it didn't necessarily apply to all shinobi. The shinobi ranks defined their duties, and much like an instruction manual, told of the different responsibilities that different shinobi were supposed to shoulder.

Not all tools had the same purposes after all.

In a way, their ranks protected them, and it had been something Tsunade had strived to keep.

A shinobi was simply a tool to be used, and one could not use a tool for something it wasn't meant to be used for.

In that way, Tsunade didn't mind seeing shinobi as tools.

The academy students, even the young Genin, would never quite understand the brutal truth of this – the necessity to learn to break properly. They had been taught about it, warned against it, and intellectually, they knew about it, but they would never quite _understand_ it; they saw shinobi as heroes, protectors of the village, valiant and courageous.

_They didn't understand that there was a flip side to the coin; for every hero, there was the demon he killed – shinobi of another village, someone's loved one who would never go home – and for every legendary deed, every glorious victory in battle, there was the one who had faced defeat – who had died to protect those they loved, who had given up their lives rather than betray their village._

_It was war, and there was no right or wrong; just defeat and victory, and the hope that your loved ones would be the ones to return, injured and a little insane, but safe, alive._

_And, Tsunade wanted to keep it that way._

The Chuunin could understand the necessity of learning to break properly, were more than well-aware of it; after all, they were shinobi, and they had been trained in the arts and ways of the life, but they would never quite live it. Some would experience it on missions – the torture, the agony, the utter brutality that stripped away all pride and humanity, reducing even the bravest and most proud to a whimpering mess of raw nerves and desperate pleas – but it wasn't their life.

_They were protected by their rank; high enough that they were useful, but low enough that they weren't a threat. It didn't mean that they weren't dangerous, and that they didn't have enemies braying for their blood, but it did mean that they were more likely to be dealt a clean and swift death rather than have their lives teased from them, every choked scream drawn out in hopes that some secret would be gained, every dying twitch carefully monitored in case their bodies inadvertently revealed something, anything, important as they came face to face with their mortality. _

_Chuunin, after all, were usually never cleared for highly classified information; their regular duties had no need for such high level clearance. A large majority of them had jobs with actual, regular working hours – such as teaching at the academy, managing the shinobi orphanages, doing rounds at the hospital, being in charge of various administration tasks and departments or sentry duty – and the missions assigned to them tended to be straight-forward with low levels of danger. They were the reliable ones, the dependable ones; the shinobi who dealt with the daily affairs in running the village. With the exception of a few heads that stuck out over their peers, they were a pretty ordinary bunch by shinobi standards. _

_And, Tsunade wanted to keep it that way._

Then, there were the Jounin, and Tokubetsu Jounin, who lived in this brutality; this was their lifestyle. Unlike the Chuunin who only ever went for a psyche evaluation on a special order by their superiors or after a particularly traumatic mission, it was a mandatory part of being a Jounin; after all, traumatic events were their bread and butter – they were the ones who were sent on missions that no one else could handle, the cream of the crop, the first line of defense. Torture and interrogation were part and parcel of their expected responsibilities; they were given specific training on how to break, and how to painstakingly put the pieces back together, to survive situations that would otherwise destroy their very souls, to complete the mission at all costs.

_They learnt to cope; their idiosyncrasies and quirks accepted as a part of who they were. Some turned to habitual routines, trying to battle the unpredictable chaos on the field, which ranged from complicated post-mission rituals to simple routines, such as everyday visits to the Memorial Stone. Then, there were those who picked up habits that took of the constant edge their lived in, habits that would be considered unhealthy by civilian standards – like chain smoking or getting on the occasional high through the use of mild poisons – but these were an indulgence to shinobi who lived and breathed things that were so much worse; after all, as a fully-trained professional, they knew better than to destroy their best tool at their disposal – their own bodies. Others lived vicariously in the powers of youth; a reminder that there was still a bright future, there was still life, even if death and destruction seemed to dominate their days. _

_Jounin, after all, were weapons to be wielded against the enemy of the village in the defense of their Hokage. But, more than that, beyond the perimeters of their mission, they were still very much _human_; no different, in fact, from the shinobi of other ranks and even the civilians. _

_And, this was what Tsunade wanted them to remember; it was ironic that in breaking and re-forging them, she could also allow herself to see them as more than tools. _

Mission reports reflected this status quo; there was a reason why shinobi were given information clearance according to the ranks that they held rather than their ability to disseminate information or even their existing wealth of knowledge concerning matters of the village. In a profession such as theirs where information was prized even above death, the shinobi ranks protected those who simply did not have the ranked-clearance for information that their enemies would torture them for. Most shinobi were treated in accordance to their ranks.

Most of the time, it meant that shinobi wouldn't have to suffer for something they were never meant to be able to do – something they were never meant to know – in the first place.

Genin were treated as harmless; sometimes even underestimated enough by a particularly merciful opponent and left alive.

Chuunin were seen as a threat, but mostly, a useless threat; they were often killed swiftly because it was simply easier, more efficient, to deal a quick death than to have to deal with a living, struggling opponent, who could very well turn the tides to their favour depending on how skilled they were. And since Chuunin were not ranked high enough to be used to gain any leverage against an enemy village, they were simply not worth the hassle.

_He was a Chuunin; therefore, he was supposed to have only been given what his rank had deemed he was suitable for. But, by giving him this duty __– this mission to disseminate and organize mission reports, and place them into safe-keeping __– by allowing him to read the words of those ranked higher than him, she would be exposing him to the dangers that the writers of those reports had faced._

_Exposing him to the treat of danger that he could face.  
_

_Because in their world, their profession, their line of work, their way of life, information was prized, highly prized, even above death._

By changing the ranks of a shinobi, one could change their fate; by changing their functions, the type of missions they were supposed to take, one could change what they could be useful for, giving them a leeway of protection that they would not have been able to gain in another rank.

_And, that was the real reason why her teacher had given Kakashi the chance to return to the Jounin ranks, even if it hadn't worked out quite so well in the end._

Which was why Tsunade was hesitating even though she knew it had to be done. He had the experience, he had the necessary skill set, and above all, he could be trusted; he had proven himself time and time again to her teacher, and later, to her. She wouldn't have to change his rank, but simply by choosing him, she would be taking away whatever protection his rank could offer.

She would be exposing him to threat of danger that someone like him had no business facing.

But, in a world devastated by war, where every shinobi was needed, where more and more fell every day, like leaves upon the strong gusts of autumn, he was her only choice, the one most suited for what she needed.

_Just like Kakashi had been her teacher's only choice, the one most suited for what he needed._

There was a knock on the door as a voice called out in greeting, announcing the presence of the very shinobi she was contemplating.

In the end, a shinobi was simply a tool to be used.

And, like her teacher before her, Tsunade had no choice but to give in to that vicious mantra.

'Come in.'

The door opened.

'You summoned me, Hokage-sama?' Umino Iruka said, stepping into the office as he bowed respectfully to her.


End file.
